


more than anything

by starrdustdreaming



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (when i finish it), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, chap 1 ending is weird im sorry i had to redo it like seven times and gave up, connor is a self destructive hoe, he's also dramatic, slight humour in chap 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-29 00:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15718209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrdustdreaming/pseuds/starrdustdreaming
Summary: But he still does, still lets himself indulge in fleeting touches and short hugs. Long nights spent pretending that the feeling of Hank’s embrace, the small spark bought on by a brush of hands, doesn’t mean anything. Despite the fact that he knows. He knows what it means when Markus describes what it’s like with North and all Connor can think isHank Hank Hank.This is the one thing Hank doesn’t know and never will. That he'sin love.





	more than anything

The air between them is tense, and Connor doesn’t quite know why.

Nothing had gone wrong during their case. It had been the typical situation that they’ve been dealing with lately, with androids finally considered  _ people.  _ Hate groups hushed by the public, as if that would lower the body count. Deep gashes, unnecessary burns. Wires torn from chests and Thirium splattered across like some kind of fucked up abstract art piece. Words written in too-vibrant blue, still fresh. A sinking feeling in Connor’s stomach, a sudden sickness at the reconstruction. Some semblance of relief at the confession as if this won’t happen again. Rinse and repeat.

Hank had asked him once, if this ever truly gets to him. And it does, in the form of nightmares where hands are tearing him apart, bitter words are punctuated by mocking laughs, the taste of Thirium on his tongue too  _ real,  _ vision red with error after error. When he wakes it’s always cold, always the silent night air that reaches him first. Alone.

If Connor could have it his way, Hank wouldn’t know this; wouldn’t be woken up countless times to see him curled up on the sofa, shivering and choking out  _ I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.  _ Yet somehow Hank isn’t tired of him yet, always offers to let Connor in his room for the night. And Connor still gives into himself and accepts, half-okay and craving some kind of touch. Still regrets in the morning, as if he doesn’t actually want to move back into Hank’s embrace. Warm but  _ too much, _ sending sharp spikes of something dangerous and _ unknown  _ shooting beneath Connor’s skin.

But he still does, still lets himself indulge in fleeting touches and short hugs. Long nights spent pretending that the feeling of Hank’s embrace, the small spark bought on by a brush of hands, doesn’t mean anything. Despite the fact that he  _ knows. _ He knows what it means when Markus describes what it’s like with North and all Connor can think is  _ Hank Hank Hank. _

This is the one thing Hank doesn’t know and never will. Connor can hardly even admit it to himself, the word _ love  _ something he can’t bring himself to say.

That can’t be the problem, though. Connor is good at masking his feelings. Hank can’t have noticed.

Yet still. The silence between them is palpable, too heavy- weighing down on Connor’s shoulders the closer they get to home. Connor doesn’t know when he started calling it that, and it scares him.

Somewhere in his mind, Connor chastises himself for continuing to go back to himself instead of paying attention to whatever could be bothering Hank. For some reason, though, he can’t quite find the words to ask. He could check his database and come up with thousands of ways to go through with simply asking if Hank is alright, but nowadays doing that seems too.. stilted. Hardly genuine, especially considering that he and Hank are at the very least _ friends  _ now.

Even though friends doesn’t feel _ enough. _

Connor shakes his head as the car shudders to a stop. Hank hardly even pays attention, climbing out of the car and shutting the door with a quiet click.

As he goes, Connor can’t help but linger. Take in the soft orange glow of the sky, the wispy clouds that float by. He stares at Hank’s retreating form, the way the light blurs him around the edges. Like something out of a dream.

“Connor!” Hank calls out. Something in his voice sounds off. “You gonna get in here or what?”

Connor takes one last look at the sky and follows, something cold and uncomfortable curling deep in his gut.

* * *

Connor dreams, that night.

He dreams of loose lips, held hands and warm laughs. Bodies pressed together in a dreamy haze of kisses and soft touch. Hank’s voice, hushed and relaxing in the midst of a quiet kind of intimacy that Connor can only truly experience _ here,  _ in his own mind.

But the dream fades, eventually, and soft evenings turn into cold nights, kisses and smiles turn into the sharp sting of rejection and Hank spits out insults like it’s nothing and  _ Hank hates him. _

Because how could an android, a _ piece of plastic, _ love. How could Connor think for a second that Hank would even want him, something hardly even human. So Hank hits and screams and Connor doesn’t say a word, just grits his teeth and bears it because this is what he deserves, isn’t it.

And Connor wakes, feeling numb. A scream, dizzying and scratchy, dies in his throat and Connor grips the blanket covering him with shaking hands.

It was just a dream. He’s okay. There’s nothing wrong.

But there is. There is and it’s crashing down on him, in thoughts and dreams and the slam of Hank’s bedroom door as it opens and he can’t keep  _ lying _ about this.

Hank rushes in as he usually does, holds Connor’s face in his hands and tells him it’s okay. It’s not. But Connor smiles for the few seconds he can muster, croaks out a quiet affirmation when Hank asks if Connor wants to sleep in his room. Curls up under the sheets almost mechanically, trying not to flinch away when Hank wraps his arms around him.

He’s not meant to feel this.

“Hank.” Connor mutters, watching as the other’s eyelashes flutter and blue eyes open. “Are you okay?”

“Jesus, Connor.” Hank huffs, quietly. Connor knows he’s only being gentle for his sake. “It’s 4am.”

“I..” Connor finds his hands wandering toward Hank’s face, until his fingers brush against his beard. Rough. Oddly comforting. He files the memory away for sometime when he won’t feel as guilty. “I was going to ask earlier. You seemed- tense. In the car.”

Hank’s expression just barely falters, and Connor briefly wonders how they got back to the stage where vulnerability is something that he’s had to pry from him.

“I’m fine. Get to sleep.” dismissive. Connor tries to ignore the ache of it.

“Lieutenant, please. I don’t- I can’t stand seeing you like this.” he reaches out again, brushes a thumb across Hank’s bottom lip without really thinking about it.

They both jerk away. Too close. “Just-” Connor shoves down the frustration bubbling up, glancing away from Hank. “Tell me what’s going on? Please.”

“Just. The case. Frustrating.” Hank grumbles. “Seriously, Con. You’re looking too much into this.  _ Sleep.” _ Connor desperately searches his face, but all he can see is a raw kind of irritation and pure tiredness.

Oh.

“I’m sorry.” Connor forces out. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid android making problems where there didn’t need to be. “I- you weren’t talking, I thought you were upset. I.. thought I did something wrong..” it’s Hank who seems concerned now, eyebrows furrowing and lips twisted into a frown. Connor kind of wants to touch him again.

“Things aren’t always _ your  _ fault.” Hank sighs, as if they’ve had this conversation a thousand times and they  _ have.  _ “Sometimes people have shitty days. Sometimes I don’t  _ want  _ to talk.” want.  _ Want.  _ Connor wants to touch. Wants to kiss and explore and feel like he never has. Wants something out of this conversation other than the low sunlight seeping in through the window, Hank’s eyes darkening just so.

“I- Hank. I need. I.” and Connor still finds himself unable to say it, his tongue stuttering over words he’s been programmed to say in a million different ways.

However, actions have never failed him, he tries to convince himself, and reaches for Hank’s hand. It’s warm.

This can’t go any further, Connor knows. Letting himself indulge in this simple thing is tiptoeing dangerously along the boundaries he’s put up for himself; sleeping in Hank’s bed is still something he beats himself up for.

Yet he doesn’t know what would happen if he moved. Felt what Hank’s lips are like on his. Feel the cold sting of rejection and whatever they have break apart, crack and tear and shatter itself into pieces.

But he wants to. He  _ needs _ to know.

So Connor gives in. Pushes himself forward with no time to second guess, time slowing down until he feels the softness of Hank’s lips.

One moment. One moment of something warm and  _ right _ before Connor forces himself back, feeling a distant kind of ache.

“Connor,” Hank murmurs, looking dazed. He sits up, gaze holding something that Connor can’t quite recognise. “What..”

Suddenly Connor feels sick even though he  _ can’t  _ be. He scrambles back, as if it would help him escape the dizzying weight of what he’s just done. Why why  _ why.  _ Why couldn’t he let his curiosity just  _ be,  _ stop his stupid crush from becoming more than it needed to. Just  _ keep his damn mouth shut _ like he’s meant to.

Connor can’t stay here anymore.

“I’m- I’m  _ sorry.”  _ he chokes out, getting up. Markus had told him he’s welcome at Jericho anytime. He’ll go there for the time being, ignore this during work in the morning. Maybe Hank will forget, maybe he won’t say anything. Even if this isn’t how things work and Connor knows it, knows that for as long as he’s prepared to run is longer for he and Hank to grow apart, to grow bitter until a simple _ mistake _ turns to hatred.

Because this is just that. A mistake. A mistake that Connor could easily explain, pass off as just some kind of experiment, chalk it down to the curiosity he should’ve stuck to in the first place.

But Connor can’t bring himself to explain it, and this time he finally knows _ why.  _ Because it means admitting the one thing he can hardly even  _ think, _ that he’d rushed in too soon out of some fucked up desire to see things fall apart like this. Because he couldn’t just stop and  _ think _ for once.

“I’m.. going to leave.” Connor breathes, and for a second he wonders if Hank even heard him.

“Connor, you’re not just leaving after  _ that.”  _ Hank sounds  _ angry.  _ It sends a sharp sting- worse than the one he’d anticipated- through Connor’s chest, and he turns away so Hank can’t see the way he flinches.

“I- I have to. Clear my mind. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable-”  _ Hank. _ “-Lieutenant.”

“Connor-!” Hank calls out, but Connor doesn’t want to look. Can’t see what he’s done.

So he flees.

He all-but runs from Hank’s room, ignoring Sumo waking up and whimpering, closing the door quietly despite the urge to just ruin it all as if he hasn’t done enough already. He runs for what seems like years, bites back the tears in his eyes and frustrated scream building in his throat. Finally arrives at Jericho with shaking legs and blurred vision and an aching heart,  _ Hank’s _ hoodie heavy on his shoulders.

That reminder forces Connor to look back, and he laughs through his tears.

Because of _course_ he'd still be there.

 

**Author's Note:**

> wHOOPS HAHA WHAT IS THIS IDK  
> follow me on tumblr i guess???? @starrdustdreaming   
> (aka i have no idea what i'm doing this fic is literally just wORD PUKE)


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